“Yes, sir. Father works for the government, mother belongs to The Woman’s Central Relief Association, and I make socks and hem handkerchiefs for the soldiers, and––” she paused suddenly, conscious that she was about to speak of the object of her journey.
“And you hold fairs to tempt the shekels from the unwary, eh?” completed Mr. Huntsworth. “Well, you are certainly a patriotic family. This is the Gayoso House, child. It has been the resort of all the noted Southerners. It is too dark for you to see the river, but you can hear its murmurings.”
Jeanne leaned forward eagerly. The soft lapping of the water, as it beat against the foot of the bluff upon which the city stood, came gently to her ears.
“I wish I could see it,” she exclaimed.
“You can in the morning. Meantime, let’s get some supper. Here, boy,” to a porter, “don’t you see that we are waiting to be shown to the dining-room?”
“Yes, sah. Right dis way, sah,” responded the negro, his ivories relaxing into a broad grin. “Glad ter see yer back, sah. We all’s mighty sorry ter heah dat you is gwine ter go norf, sah.”
“Who told you that I was going North, you black rascal?” demanded Mr. Huntsworth. “I’ve been North. Have just gotten back. Here, take this, and tell that waiter to hurry up with that supper.”
“Yes, sah. Thank ye, sah,” answered the black pocketing the shinplaster slipped into his hand, with alacrity.
“I think I never saw so many negroes before,” remarked Jeanne, looking about the dining-room. “Where do they all come from?”
“You’ll see a great many more before you go back to New York,” responded Mr. Huntsworth. “The South literally teems with them. If the race only knew its power it would not leave its battles to be fought by the North. A while ago I said the Mississippi was the key to the rebellion. I was mistaken. It is dar-key.”